


The Crime and Punishment Affair

by MariaPriest



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaPriest/pseuds/MariaPriest
Summary: Members of Allan Morgan's team in Korea want revenge for his death.





	The Crime and Punishment Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Tag to "The Secret Sceptre Affair."

"Dave? Ben. It's confirmed - Kuryakin murdered Allan."

"I knew it! That damn Russkie will pay."

"What about Napoleon? He's still partnering with that sonuvabitch!"

"Don't worry. We'll take care of him, too. When will they be back?"

"LaGuardia 0430 tomorrow," answered the Section III agent.

oOo

Napoleon signaled for a taxi, while Illya leaned against a nearby post.

"Wish we could've stayed longer in London," the Cambridge graduate stated. "There is this delightful restaurant that serves the most glorious Pakistani food."

"No fair making me hungry, _tovarishch_. I just want to go home and to bed without stopping at some all-night deli to fill your hollow leg. Ah, here's one," he said as the cab stopped. He held the door open for his partner.

They quickly settled in. Napoleon gave the cabbie the address of their building. Suddenly, a glass partition rose from the driver's bench seat at the same time the back doors locked and gas filled the compartment. There was no time for them to react. Illya's head came to rest on the window while Napoleon's eventually ended up on Illya's lap.

oOo

Kuryakin woke to a splitting headache, chills, and the awareness that he was wearing only his briefs and expertly strapped to a metal table.

And they had thought it safe to hail a taxi at that time of morning. Sometimes, he bitingly complained about their carelessness. But not today. His head hurt too much.

Slowly, he looked first to his left. There was Napoleon, likewise bound but to a chair a few feet away. His chin rested on his chest, he was breathing, and at least he had a shirt on - albeit unbuttoned - and trousers.

He surveyed the rest of the room. The walls and floor were taupe, the ceiling light tan. There were two cameras, three covered recessed lights, no windows or mirrors, and a door without a handle to his right. _Interrogation and torture room_ , he thought. _I get to go first. Lucky me._

"Napoleon?" he said loudly. When no response, he said more loudly, "Napoleooooonnnn!"

That was enough to get a reaction. Solo smacked his dry lips and squinted his eyes. "I don't remember drinking that much on the plane."

"You didn't. We were gassed."

"Oh, yeah. Unfortunately coming back to me." He opened his eyes fully. "At least you get to lay down."

"At least you're clothed."

The door opened to reveal an average-looking man noted only by his lack of anything distinguishable.

Napoleon blinked at the man. "Dave?"

"Right on the first try, Napoleon."

"You _know_ this man?" Illya's question was more like an accusation.

"What the deuce is going on?" Anger replaced Napoleon's earlier incredulity.

"Your partner here has been found guilty of murdering Colonel Morgan and is sentenced to a death by a thousand cuts." Quickly he produced a knife as he stepped to Illya's side. "It will be slow and agonizing," he said as he carved an X into the agent's exposed abdomen.

Illya screamed. Usually it takes a moment for the pain of trauma to register, but not this time. He surmised the knife must be coated with something strongly acidic. He panted to cope with the pain.

"Stop this!" yelled Napoleon. He struggled against his restraints but they weren't budging. "You know this isn't right! We can work this out."

Dave stormed over to stand in front of Napoleon. "He should be killed just because he was KGB. Hell, he probably still _is_. You know he must've killed Americans. And _you_ agreeing to be his partner. Letting him murder Allan, and then not sanctioning _him_." He paused to wipe the spittle from his lips. "Treason bears the same punishment as murder, but because of Korea and the Company, your death will be quick." He turned to Kuryakin. "Here. Hold this for me, willya?" He sank the knife into the agent's thigh.

Illya gasped and choked at the intense pain. He struggled to stay conscious, to not give into the agony. He needed to be awake and there for Napoleon, if only to give him strength by diverting his attention.

"You _bastard_!" Napoleon rocked the chair in hopes that maybe it would shatter when it fell and allow him to get loose. But he knew it was futile; they were in a CIA black room and the chairs were unbreakable. 

But his ribs weren't. Dave, who had slipped on brass knuckles, slammed his fist into Solo's side. The crunch of breaking bone covered Napoleon's scream. 

"Stop!" Illya shouted. The act amplified the pain in his leg. "How can you do this to your brother in arms?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"He's no longer my brother since he left the Company and joined U.N.C.L.E.. He's been dead to me since he partnered with the enemy."

Napoleon spat blood. Illya hoped it was from a mouth injury but feared it came from a punctured lung. "He's not the enemy, Dave," Napoleon said quietly.

"You _both_ are," Dave hissed venomously. He smashed his hand into Solo's abdomen hard enough to push the chair over. He smiled grimly when Napoleon's eyes fluttered and he strained to breathe.

He turned back to Kuryakin. This time he grinned widely as he twisted the knife. He laughed when Illya couldn't arch his back against the leather strap across his hips.

Instead of a scream, curses in several languages spewed from his mouth. "I will kill you," he said in a tone meant to strike fear and belief this would happen.

Napoleon recovered enough to speak a few words at a time. "Listen to … me, Dave. Allan had … gun on me and … one of his own. Illya … warned him. Allan shot first." He stopped for a moment to catch his waning breath. "If Illya hadn't … I'd be … dead along with … an innocent."

Dave stood over Napoleon. "Look me in the eye and tell me that's the truth."

He looked Dave squarely in the eyes and declared, "Truth." Then he was out.

Illya heard the too-familiar weakness that told him his partner was slipping into unconsciousness. He cried out, "Napoleon!" That robbed him of the last of his energy and he, too, blacked out.

oOo

Napoleon's return to awareness started with the beep of the cardiac monitor and the burbling of water that later he'd realize was due to a tube in his chest. His first coherent thought was of his partner. Someone was at his bedside but it wasn't him. The beeping accelerated. "Illya?" he whispered. He opened his eyes, surprised to find a morose Ben Taylor, another member of Morgan's team who had, along with Napoleon and Dave Carter, joined the CIA after the war.

"Where's Illya?" he asked, barely masking the growing panic.

"Still in surgery, Napoleon. Repairing his leg will take some time. And he needs a lot of stitches to his abdomen."

Napoleon closed his eyes in thanks that Illya was still alive.

"Uh, Napoleon, I have a confession to make."

He reopened his eyes. "I'm listening."

Ben studied his hands. "This is all my fault. You and Illya. There was a rumor that Illya killed Allan. I called Dave. A little later my section head validated it, but I didn't hear anything else. If I'd listened, I would've known the killing was justified." He sighed, dejected. "As soon as I read the summary report, I headed over to the black house. Long story short, I told him and his partner, who hates Russians even more than Dave, the whole truth. They even performed first aid. I called for an U.N.C.L.E. medical team." He paused to give Napoleon a chance to say something. When that wasn't forthcoming, he continued, "I'm so sorry, Napoleon. I'll understand if you never forgive me. I doubt I'll ever forgive myself."

Napoleon was still too furious and disappointed to speak. That was a good thing because he was pretty sure he'd tear into the agent, who was part of the band of brothers that had formed in Morgan's unit, almost as mercilessly as Illya would.

"I resigned before Mr. Waverly could fire me. They're letting me stay long enough to apologize to Illya. That is, if he'll let me." Finally, he looked up at Napoleon.

The usually soft brown eyes were hard with anger. "Don't even think about it. He's likely to use the IV tubing as a garrote."

Ben nodded in understanding, stood, and shuffled out of the room.

Watching him leave, Napoleon wasn't sure Ben's punishment fit the crime. He knew Illya would think it didn't.

the end  
© 2018

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to CoriKay for the beta.  
> Response to a Section VII challenge with prompts of work and black


End file.
